We've made it through our first year of Little League. This is no small accomplishment - we spent May freezing our hinders off wondering if summer would ever come. Then June, we were still cold and wondering why on earth we would have signed up for such fun and then we were sweating out the innings and then *poof* it was over. And our Mariner was walking around in his hat and shirt with shorts and talking about tennis lessons.
He hit, he ran, he scored, he RBI'd, he hit the cut off man, he won, he lost (a lot), he wore his sunglasses and then took them off and couldn't figure out how to hold them and his glove and thrown the ball (2 runs scored, too late, too late) and he had a great time. Is there anything better than baseball?
You can bring your baby sister (I know, she's not really a baby anymore, but she'll be his baby sister forever) and she'll do her super hero pose and cheer you on while happily filling the role of 'dirtiest baby at Little League Park'.
But the best part is sitting with your team and having an Orange Fanta and a hot dog after the game. Because your mom never buys Fanta and you're a boy. A magical, American boy chasing down ground balls and looking impossibly grown up. Sniff.